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"My mind is like a shipwreck," Pete suddenly declared, eyes flying open though dimmed in color and a filled with a vacant sense, almost as if he isn't truly there.
Patrick eyed him up carefully, eyebrow arched, clearly without sleep from the dark circles beneath his eyes to show.
Patrick tilted his head for a moment before going along with Pete's midnight rambles. Like usual. Nothing abnormal about it.
"You're drowning in the midst of your thoughts," he replied, eyes fluttering shut while Pete nodded vigorously and shook Patrick with the rapid motion ensuing the younger to let out a groan of annoyance.
"You always get me," Pete hummed and then wrapped an arm around the singer's waist before tugging him closer, while his nose planted itself within the junction of Patrick's shoulder which caused him to flinch from the chilled skin. "Dude." Patrick said, eyes still closed as a frown made it's way onto his previously bored expression, Pete ignored this.
"Sinking, spiraling, till I'm no more," Pete added as an after thought and inhaled deeply and he knows Patrick has slight suspicion over whether Pete was smelling him or not. Though it's disregarded this as an everyday Pete thing, because it is, apparently Patrick's scent is like Pete's home, whatever that means.
like a sweat fetish or some shit.
"Almost as if the hands of the sea itself are choking you to death," Patrick commented, his head turned as he wiggled slightly to gain more comfort, as his left lung is being squished and flattened underneath Pete's weight. He tried to voice this, but Pete took offense, mouth fell open into a gasp as he asked if Patrick was insinuating that he was fat.
"What the fuck," Patrick said, eyes opening to squint at Pete in all his outraged glory, "Why the fuck would you even--" Patrick began, though interrupted by Joe from the front of the van.
"Can you guys shut up and get some fucking sleep?" Joe's voice groaned out, from the passenger's seat.
"Trohman, don't be a bitch." Patrick muttered in a dull tone, sitting up--unfortunately for him, he brings Pete with him in the process. Pete stared at him for a moment before a giggle escaped him. "Hi," he said and then pushed his face right back into the warm skin of Patrick's neck.
"You're just jealous of our intellect, alright," Pete accused, his voice muffled, and then craned his neck somewhat back to glare over his shoulder as it slowly turned into a glower of displeasure at the sad fact that his--cuddles--with Patrick have been postponed.
Not saying he'd have sex in the back of a van with Joe and Andy present--well, he's jerked off before, but that's different, he just wanted to get a few pecks in...Maybe a grope or two, whatever.
Patrick would most likely kick him in the nuts if he even attempted to do so anyway, so maybe he's getting lucky--but not getting lucky--okay, he needs to stop.
Joe scoffed, and a bony hand reached back, attempting to whack one of them in the head Patrick having a rare case of--actual--decent reflexes, dodged it, while Pete tried to bite at the fingers, which resulted in Patrick swatting at his shoulder.
"No biting," Patrick commanded, voice firm as Pete pouted in response, "You are not a dog--" at that Pete tore away from him, arms crossed as he mumbled out, "How do you know that?" Patrick sighed softly and shook his head before he proceeded to lie back down against the grimy--fuzzy flooring of the vehicle, he's used to it.
"I'm not sure whether it's your poetic minds or the fact that you both haven't slept for over four days," Joe murmured after a moment as his hand pulled away and Patrick gave a snort of laughter.
"Both," Patrick grinned, and oh look, there's Pete snuggling into him again. "Oh, you're back, how tragic," Pete then flicked him on the nose, which, ow. "You love me, so shut the fuck up." Pete grumbled, before a smirk curled upon his mouth and--fingers, cold fingers are beginning to glide up the hem of Patrick's shirt.
"What," Patrick's eyes widened and then he let out a loud squeak, "No--stop it--before I kill your ass, because I will, I know where the forks are, Wentz"
"They're actually sporks," Joe called back, with a wave of his hand. "Wow, thanks Joe, I'm ever so grateful for your input," Patrick deadpanned, eyebrows pulled together in frustration as Pete's fingernails claw at his side. "Pete, seriously, if you don't stop I'm not gonna let you touch me for a week,"
Pete's movements paused at that, before he gave a small whine and withdrew his fingers. "You win this time Stumpy," and this time Patrick froze, before he glared. "Don't. Call. Me. That." Patrick growls out, a harsh rumbling emphasis put on each and every word. "Ever."
Pete's entire smug like stature seemed to falter but he quickly shook it back into place and let a smirk cover it, hide that little tiny slip up.
"Stumpy," Pete repeated, his smirk widened when Patrick's eyes flashed, blazing at the clear defiance in Pete's behavior. Pete shrugged one of his shoulders and sat back up to crawl over Patrick and across the van and he let out a soft noise when his shoulder blades placed themselves against the heated metal.
Pete knows it's childish and he definitely shouldn't provoke Patrick--Joe and Andy have told him not to a million and one times.
...But there's something in the curl of Patrick's lips, the pull of it until there's a snarl and Patrick growling loud and heavy, hissing in an almost animal-like way, and the angry flush of his cheeks spreading down to his neck, readying itself to coat his entire body.
Pete likes it, no, loves it, even though he never really gets anything out of it--besides Patrick yelling at him--well, there was...one time Patrick pushed him up against a brick wall outside of one of the houses they played at--and fingers wrapped themselves around his throat, pushing and prodding, while tightening around his neck while squeezing his windpipe and almost fully cutting off his supply of oxygen.
Pete hissed out whatever breath he had left before he brought his hands up to claw at Patrick's knuckles and he remembered kicking his legs out as he tugged at Patrick arms and he's honestly not even sure how this begun.
Pete trembled and quivered and tried to nail Patrick in the shin, strike him hard enough to be able to get away, loosen the hold and just escape.
At least that's what he thought he wanted until Patrick shoved him harder against the wall and his elbows skidded across the rough stone and cut into skin and he felt a searing pain shoot throughout his body. His nerves jumped, frazzled and ran throughout him in odd excitement, he's sure his brain short circuited for a moment, frying as his knees buckled and a choked moan escaped his lips as he fell limp within Patrick's grip.
Pete's also positive he popped a semi, which is sort of the entire point, he's turned on by it...by being choked, not even Pete thought he was this fucked up or maybe it's just being treated a little more...cruel, maybe he needs someone to put him in his place, though he's not even sure what place that is...
Someone to tear him down, break him apart and put him back together piece by piece, cracked shards new and improved.
Someone to hold him down and not be afraid to jerk him around a bit, pummel him into next week and tell him off if it's absolutely necessary--usually it is, no need to be humble about it, he knows what he likes, but that doesn't stop him from being afraid of it.
Strong hands curled around Pete's waist and or hips with a brutal touch, fingernails dug into the skin and meat of his body as he squirmed against whatever surface he's laid out upon, spread out and vulnerable while easily accessible and he knows this is something he's fond of, he's experimented...With other guys, and even a few girls, some of it went well, some not so much.
Like that time one guy spanked him so hard he could barely walk the next day, though he wouldn't put that in the bad category. Sometimes the aftermath is his favorite time--the sight of bruises littering his whole entire body, coating his hips to his thighs, red and purple painting his neck, bite marks--marked--and feeling that ache all over, the overexertion of his body evident from the give and bunch of his muscles, tense and stiff as he stumbled out of the front door of whatever place he passed out in the previous night before, he never really cared much to remember the details of his whereabouts.
Risky and stupid, but Pete's not at all a safe guy and he knows that.
But it's strange, it always felt so much more intense when it was with Patrick and Patrick didn't even really do anything, the biggest incident was the choking one, which never dared to repeat itself for Patrick apologized profusely minutes later.
Pete couldn't help the feeling of disappointment at that through his pleasurable drunken-like haze as a rhythmic throb filled his ears, pounding against his cranium and he could hardly see straight. Then again that could be the lack of air making it's way to his lungs and circulating within his brain.
He sucked in a large breath, before hacking it out roughly, his throat felt raw and scratchy, his coughs weak, mirroring the likes of a wheeze. He caught Patrick's eye for a few seconds and Patrick opened his mouth, lips formed around another apology until Pete reached out and grasped onto his forearm.
"Don't," Pete had said and then gave a tired grin, although it probably only resulted in resembling a grimace more so, "It's okay, I was being an asshole, dude," and he was, Patrick only blinked in response. "I just choked you," Patrick muttered, annoyed, and looked away as his arms tangled together and crossed over his chest.
Pete nodded, lazy grin widening. "I'd say I deserved it," and then Patrick snaps his head back, eyes widened in shock before he let out a snort. "Like punishment?" And Patrick's still cracking up at the absurd notion while Pete frowned in thought, punishment. For being a dick? Makes sense.
"Yes," Pete finally spoke, voice clear yet still grated and Patrick's voice wavers over a laugh until it stops completely. "What?" Oops, he should've stayed quiet, however he never really thrived in the silent game, which isn't news.
"Nothing," Pete lied smoothly and tried to ease himself into an innocent posture. Patrick narrowed his eyes, clearly suspicious. "Alright then, I'm not sure whether I wanna know either way,"
"It's nothing," Pete repeated, tone firmer than before and Patrick raised his eyebrows in surprise, his eyes filled with curiosity but it seemed to be disregarded as Patrick spun around and began to stalk off.
"C'mon, Joe and Andy are probably wondering where the fuck we are,"
Pete stayed where he was for a couple of seconds until Patrick craned his neck back to look over his shoulder and he jerked his head in a gesture for Pete to follow.
Pete kicked-started himself into action and jogged after Patrick while he called out hoarsely, "Well, they're probably betting over who killed who--" Patrick grinned, interrupting him with a, "I'd say the answer is pretty obvious,"
Pete scowled at that and slid his leg out to scrape his foot across the pavement, the noise sending a spark down his spine as it penetrates his eardrums.
"Well, I'd say you seem pretty proud, rick," Pete commented in an offhand manner and Patrick laughed out a muffled "Maybe," in reply.
And then they both scampered off to a place Pete has no memory of, he remembered the part where Joe and Andy were sure they did in fact kill each other--okay, they thought Patrick killed him.
Pete just has a unique sense of humor, which means pranks, that are hilarious to the witnesses, not so much for the casualty--or casualties, depends on his mood.
He thinks they were in a basement, maybe? Doesn't matter. The scenery isn't the point, what is the point is he's still pushing and shoving at Patrick, pressing all the wrong buttons--well for Patrick they're incorrect, for Pete they're accurate and the exact place he's shooting to agitate.
But from the way Patrick only glared at him in the van before he gave a slight worming movement and twisted onto his side, facing opposite from Pete, his shoulders in a straight line stiffened almost as if they're being restrained. Small huffs escaped him and Pete had to hold back a giggle because of it.
Patrick didn't do anything and Pete won't make him, that won't stop the hope blooming inside his chest that's similar to the likes of a hand clenching around his heart, it hurts, but it won't stop, he can't stop it. Can't.
Pete knows one day he's gonna go too far, push Patrick over the edge and throw himself off in addition to the short tempered hat-clad vocalist, but maybe...That's exactly what he's aiming for.